


Meeting Dralde

by woolgathered



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Fluff, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-24 02:16:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17695715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woolgathered/pseuds/woolgathered
Summary: Dora meets Dralde. Our adventuring party rescues Dralde, a Goliath warrior on a quest for tribal glory, from a pack of wolves after he injured himself slipping down a cliff.Dora, a young bard obsessed with legendary heroism, is naturally curious.





	Meeting Dralde

“father Charles goes down and ends... battle ends and down goes Charles father...”

The cold air made my clouds out of my whispers. The mnemonic had become a habit I hardly noticed under stress. I peered around the belly of a tall pine tree to see what had disturbed our camp-making: wolves-the small ones this time, thank the Gods- nipping and snarling at a figure trapped against the cliff-face. The sun had all but disappeared behind the trees, taking the color from my vision. Vasellia touched my shoulder as she also reached the clearing and took in the situation. 

“We have to help.”

And so we did. The animals were focused on their prey and easy to dispatch. We had numbers and the element of surprise. A final yelp echoed off the cliff as Viertes took out the last of them, but I only had eyes for the person we had rescued. 

Blood trickled from a gash down one long, muscular calf. It was red like my own, but the skin that had been wounded so was the pale blue of river stone. It’s owner lifted his gaze and looked silently at each of us, even me, tucked as I was beside Vasellia. His eyes were blue ice in an expressionless face. Dark lines like tattoos crossed his cheeks and spanned his eyelids, curving and branching to outline a severe countenance. I followed the lines down his neck and realized in the half-light that his torso was bare. 

Our guide produced a torch and lit it, leaving me self-conscious of my gawking even as it revealed more about the stranger. 

He was speaking to Walagorn now with a deep voice and strange diction but in the common tongue. 

“Thank you for your aid. I am Dralde. I was beset by these wolves after a misstep brought me down the cliff here,” he gestured to the black rock face, glistening with icicles in the torchlight, “but I am feeling the work of your healing berries already.” With that he stood, leaning on his spear for balance. He was taller than Viertes- indeed, he was taller than any man I’d ever seen. Vasellia caught my eye and gave a wink as our group turned back towards camp, Dralde with us. I blushed, and the heat in my cheeks felt like fire against the icy air. Had my fascination been so obvious? Or perhaps she shared it. 

We wove through the trees as darkness fell on the forest and occasionally I could see Dralde’s broad shoulders ahead of me. Those dark marks radiated from his spine and neck to his waist where they disappeared beneath a leather belt and fur-trimmed kilt. His gait was steady now as if he’d never been injured. I followed his massive silhouette to the fire, stowing my belt and lute with my pack before spreading my cloak directly across the flames from where Dralde perched. Even at ease he held himself with pride: his shoulders were straight and strong, his eyes untroubled. 

I listened to the others converse with him while I myself kept quiet and wondered why I was so curious about him. We’d come across new races and creatures before. I made a mental list of observations as the group spoke.

-He was proud, and spoke without a shred of modesty, but he was also free with praise and listened to others intently before responding.   
-His large frame, well-muscled and proportioned, was not threatening.   
-He described his tribe: a culture that rarely resorted to violence but instead competed through quests of valor such as he was on now to prove himself and win glory for his people.  
\- I could not tell his age and the word Goliath meant nothing to me.  
-His intelligence was clear and he sounded honest, but I couldn’t be certain. 

Why was I staring? I told myself I was preparing a ballad, taking note of this stranger for my next song. I’d need to remember how he spoke, how he dressed, how the firelight played on the ebon stripes across stone skin...


End file.
